Hell's Horizon tct-2

by Darren Shan

  He left before I did. I hadn’t thanked him, as thanks were unnecessary. We both knew the risk he’d taken and the debt I owed. It went without saying that if he ever needed a favor, he had only to call.

  I stayed on at the diner, thinking about Nick and Charlie Grohl. Nick had said he’d been with his lover the whole night, but according to Breton, Grohl had been trussed up and left alone. Where had Nick been? Busy slicing up his sister? Plotting with Howard Kett?

  Howie…

  Where did the cop fit in? Earlier he’d warned me away from Nick. Now I knew he’d sent Breton Furst to the Fridge in search of Allegro Jinks, which meant he knew about the Wami imitator. Had Kett killed Nic and set Wami on the Fursts?

  The evidence was strong, but I wasn’t convinced. Kett was a son of a bitch, and I was sure he had what it took to kill if needed, but he wasn’t the kind of man who’d calmly toy with the likes of Paucar Wami and The Cardinal. He was involved, clearly, but I couldn’t see him as a criminal mastermind.

  I called his office the morning after my meeting with Jerry. He was on a week’s vacation, not due back until the weekend. I hung up and phoned Bill. Pretended I was calling to say hello. Maneuvered the conversation around to Howie. Expressed surprise when Bill told me he was on vacation and asked where a guy like Kett went in his spare time. Once I was off the phone with Bill, I booked a return ticket and cycled to the train station.

  It was early afternoon when I reached the hotel, only to learn Kett and family were out for the day. I positioned myself at a shaded table near the front of the building, pulled on a pair of dark glasses and spent the next few hours sipping nonalcoholic cocktails while keeping watch for the Ketts.

  They turned up after seven. Howie, his wife, and five of their eight (or was it nine?) kids. Howie was in a pair of shorts, a flashy Hawaiian shirt and a cardboard ten-gallon hat. I grimaced and wished I’d bought a camera-phone the last time I upgraded my cell. The kids were arguing about what to do next. As they drew closer and entered the hotel, I heard Howie say they’d change clothes, then head down to the jetty to unwind.

  A quarter of an hour later they reemerged, Howie in more somber attire. I let them get ahead, rose and slowly followed.

  The kids started to pester an old guy on a yacht down at the jetty. I gathered he knew them by the way he didn’t lose his temper when they clambered aboard. Mrs. Kett warned them to be careful and wandered over to keep an eye on them. Howie stood gazing out over the water at the setting sun, shirt rippling in the lake breeze.

  I stepped up behind him and said, “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” he agreed, turning with a smile that disappeared when I raised my glasses and winked. “Jeery?” he gawped. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  “Came for the fresh lake air.”

  He stared at me suspiciously. “Bullshit.”

  “You’re right. I came to ask you to connect the dots between Nicola and Nicholas Hornyak, Charlie Grohl, Breton Furst and Allegro Jinks.”

  He turned ghostly white. “You scum,” he snarled. “I’m on vacation with my wife and children, and you have the fucking nerve to follow me here and—”

  “If you want to create a scene, I’m game,” I interrupted softly. “I don’t mind having it out in front of your family.”

  I thought he was going to hit me but then his shoulders sagged. He yelled at his wife that he’d be back soon, jerked his head toward the far end of the jetty and struck out for it. He walked fast and I only caught up with him at the edge, where he stood rooted to the boards like a statue overlooking the lake.

  “Make it quick, asshole,” he snapped. “I’m only here for a week. I want to waste as little as possible of it on you.”

  “Tell me about Nicholas Hornyak. Why did you warn me away?”

  “I told you, he’s got friends who look out for him.”

  “Name them.”

  “No.”

  “OK. Let’s forget about Nick for a while. What about Breton Furst? You sent him after Allegro Jinks. That inquiry led to his death. His wife and kids too. Care to tell me what they died for?”

  “I had nothing to do with that,” Kett said. “I was trying to locate a missing person. I had no idea it would end up the way it did.”

  “How did you know about him and Nicholas? Come to that, how’d you know about Jinks?” When he didn’t respond I sat and hung my head out over the water, studying my reflection. “This is a lovely spot. Come here a lot?”

  “Most years,” he answered guardedly.

  “Tell me what I want to know or it’ll be a long time before you come again. How long do you think they’ll send you down for if I go public? Nobody would have raised much of a fuss if it was just Nicola and Breton Furst. But the children… People are outraged, thirsty for blood. They want the killer ideally, but I’m sure an accomplice would do. You might even get the chair.”

  The grinding of Kett’s teeth was louder than any motor on the lake and I was half-afraid he’d chew down to the gums. But, with great effort, he said, “It all goes back to Charlie Grohl.”

  I hid my smile and waved for him to continue.

  “Grohl got in touch with me shortly after the press ran details of Nicola’s death. He’d been in the room next to hers with her brother and was afraid his name would surface. He didn’t know Nicholas Hornyak — he was in town a couple of days, they hooked up at some gay joint and went to the Skylight for sex. Hornyak took off during the night, leaving Grohl tied to the bed. A guard let him go. Grohl was furious, went looking for Nick, didn’t find him, left the city and went home.”

  “He knew nothing about the murder?”

  “No.”

  “What did he think when Nicola’s name turned up in the papers?”

  “At first, nothing — it was a week after the event, so he didn’t connect it to the night he was there. Then he heard a rumor that she’d been murdered the week before and realized he might be implicated if Nicholas had been involved in her death. That’s why he told me his story.”

  “Why come to you?” I asked.

  “He made inquiries. Knew I was handling the case. Knew he could trust me to keep his name to myself.”

  That sounded dubious but I let it pass. “So he pointed the finger at Nicholas. Why didn’t you go after him?”

  “I did,” Kett sighed. “That’s when I was warned to keep my nose out. My kids were threatened. I didn’t like it but I backed off. When you started sniffing, I was told to have a word with you. That’s the bitch about these fuckers — give in to them once and you’re giving in the rest of your life.”

  “We keep coming back to these so-called friends of Nick’s. Names, Howie.”

  “And wind up like the Fursts?” He laughed bitterly. “If you put a gun to my children’s heads like these guys did, and tell me to talk, I’ll yap like a dog. Otherwise go fuck yourself.”

  I wasn’t happy but I could see no room for leverage. As Kett guessed, I wasn’t the sort of guy who’d kill a child.

  “Tell me about Allegro Jinks,” I moved on.

  “I’ll get to that,” he said. “Grohl gave me a description of the Troop who freed him. It didn’t take me long to case the Skylight and pinpoint Furst. Although I’d kept Nicholas Hornyak out of my investigations, I hadn’t let the case die. I’d been pursuing other angles, asking questions about Nicola. I knew she’d been seen with a guy answering to Paucar Wami’s description.”

  “You found that out?” I was surprised.

  “I do know a bit about detective work,” he sneered. “Then a woman turned up looking for her missing son. Sobbing her eyes out, begging for help. She said he’d had problems in the past but had seemed to be settling down. Then he shaved his head, tattooed his face with snakes, split from his friends and took up with some rich white girl.”

  “Allegro Jinks,” I muttered.

  “I searched for him but, as his mother had said, he’d vanished. Then I heard about a Chinese tattooist who’d been rip
ped to pieces shortly before Jinks went missing. I put two and two together and came up with the Fridge. I know Wami leaves a lot of bodies there — or so rumor has it — and I figured that was the only chance I had of finding Jinks.

  “I couldn’t just trot along to the Fridge and ask if they had Allegro Jinks on ice. It doesn’t work that way. I had to go through someone who was part of the system, who wouldn’t be questioned, someone like—”

  “—Breton Furst,” I finished.

  “There were others I could have used, but I had recent dirt on Furst. I reckoned he’d still be shaky about not coming clean when he should have. He’d be easy to manipulate.”

  “You met him in person,” I noted. “That was foolish.”

  “Couldn’t discuss it over the phone,” Kett countered. “Besides, we met in a dark theater. I didn’t think he’d recognize me. Obviously — since you’re here — I was wrong.”

  “Furst left a note,” I said, quietly analyzing Kett’s story. “So you sent him to ask about Jinks. What next?”

  “Nothing. I heard about his murder. Figured it tied in and that if anyone knew I’d put him up to making inquiries about Jinks, I was fucked. Kept my head down and booked a vacation. Thought I’d left the mess behind till you turned up.”

  A neat story. I wasn’t sure I believed it, but it was neat.

  “You think Nick arranged Furst’s murder?” I asked.

  “I neither know nor give a shit,” he answered. “I feel lousy about what happened to his wife and kids, but what can I do? Step forward and risk my own family? Nuh-uh. I’ve had my fill of killing. You investigate if you want. Me, when I’m finished here, I’m going back to less lethal detective work.”

  “You’re a coward, Howie.”

  “So was Breton Furst. Difference is, I’m a live coward.”

  I stood, brushed the dust from the back of my pants and wondered how much of his story was true. It was easy to call Kett a coward — and easy for him to admit it — but we both knew he’d gone after tougher fish than Nick Hornyak, regardless of the risk to himself or his family. Bill had often told me — usually when I was belittling his boss — of the time Kett crawled out onto the top of a train to take on a couple of teenagers stoned out of their heads on PCP, how he’d kept after a gang boss till he nailed him, in spite of a mail bomb and an attempt on his oldest son’s life.

  “You’ll save us both a shitload of trouble if you play straight with me,” I said. “Nobody needs to know. Tell me the truth and I’ll leave you be.”

  “I’ve told the truth,” he insisted.

  “Some of it, perhaps, but not all. I’m no fool, Howie.”

  “I think you are,” he said softly. “A fool to come here. A fool to keep pressing. It looks to me like Paucar Wami killed Jinks and the Fursts. You keep on with this and next thing you know he’ll be coming for you. What’ll you do then, Jeery?”

  I smiled as I thought of what he’d say if I told him about my relationship to Paucar Wami, but sweet as it would be to watch his face drop, that was information best not shared.

  “See you in the city, Howie,” I said, taking my leave.

  “Not if Paucar Wami sees you first,” he retorted, then scurried off to collect his family and shepherd them back to the hotel.

  I could have caught the last train home, but this was a nice little town and I was due a night off, so I checked into a different hotel, had a meal in a quiet restaurant, bought some toiletries in a shop, then strolled back to my room to call Paucar Wami.

  I hadn’t forgotten about my father in my haste to catch up with Kett, but if I’d told him of my meeting with Jerry, he would have insisted on coming with me to assist in the interrogation, and though I bore no love for Howard Kett, I didn’t want to see him winding up as bait on the end of a fishhook.

  There was no answer when I called, so I went for a walk and tried his number again later.

  “Al m’boy. Sorry I missed you earlier. Couldn’t take the call. My hands were full.” There was a groan in the background.

  “What was that?” I asked.

  “Our friend Nicholas. I tired of trailing him, so I—”

  “No!” I shouted, gripping the phone furiously.

  Wami chuckled. “Relax. Nicholas is safe. This is some nobody I picked up off the street. Would you care to share a few last words with him?”

  “You’re a sick son of a bitch.”

  “And you are the son of a son of a bitch. No matter. Where are you? You were supposed to be shadowing our target this afternoon.”

  “I’ve been busy. A lead fell into my lap.”

  “Do tell,” he said eagerly.

  “Not over the phone. Listen, I want you to try and find Charlie Grohl. He’s one of Nick’s lovers. He was with him in the Skylight. He lives out of town.”

  “Any idea where?”

  “No.”

  “That might take some time.”

  “It’ll be time well spent.”

  “Very well. I will wrap things up sooner than planned and apply myself to the tiresome task. Will you be joining me tonight?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “I will miss you. Good night, son.”

  “ ’Night,” I threw back gruffly, hating him for his murderous ways, hating myself more for turning a blind eye to them. There were times, trailing Nick, when Wami was vulnerable. The opportunities to take a stab at him had been ample. Maybe I could have put him out of the city’s misery by now.

  But I needed him to find Nic’s killer. I was putting my own selfish motives before the welfare of millions, any one of whom could be next on Wami’s hit list, and it churned my stomach to think of it.

  I tucked myself into the comfortable bed when I got back and stared out the window at the clear sky. Living in the city, it was easy to forget about the stars. I recalled the old myths that our destinies were written in the skies and fell asleep thinking, if everything were mapped out for us in advance, how much simpler life would be. I need feel no guilt if I believed I was an agent of fate. I could blame my complicity on destiny and sleep the sleep of the just.

  I caught an early train back to the city and arrived home before ten. Bounced up the stairs brightly, only to find my key wouldn’t turn. Taking it out, I got down on a knee and peered into the keyhole. Some clever bastard had filled it with glue. It was the third time this year. A bored kid, no doubt. One day I’d catch him and…

  I got to my feet, took aim and kicked at the lock. It busted and the door burst open. I dumped my overnight bag on the sofa and croaked to the stale, gloomy room, “Welcome home!”

  I brewed a mug of coffee and drank it slowly, then set out again, swinging the door closed behind me. I cycled to my friend Danny’s hardware store. It was out of my way but Danny was an old pal. I’d met him through Bill, who used to work for him when he was a kid, many years ago.

  Danny was behind the counter. After Fabio he was probably the oldest guy I knew. He was found more often in the back these days. He’d been threatening to retire for ages but everybody knew he wouldn’t. He laughed when I walked in with a scowl. “Not the lock again!” he hooted.

  “If I ever get my hands on the little bastard…”

  “Maybe it’s a locksmith,” Danny grinned. “The guy who owned this place before me used to pull that trick when business was slow. Glued up locks and waited for the calls to flood in. He got busted a few times but that didn’t stop him. He was a mad old buzzard.”

  “You never tried it yourself, of course,” I smiled.

  “Certainly not,” he said indignantly, but I could see him reddening around the throat. “Same make as before?”

  “Unless they’ve devised a glue-resistant model.”

  He asked about Bill as I was paying for the lock. I told him he was fine and mentioned the fishing trip we’d been on. Danny used to come with us before his health deteriorated. He sighed and asked me to let him know the next time we were going — he’d come along if his doctor OK’d it. I promised
I would, waved away my change and wished him well.

  Back home, two squad cars were parked outside the building and cops were in my apartment, talking softly. I hesitated in the hallway, wondering whether to proceed or beat a retreat. I decided to face them — maybe someone had noticed the busted lock and called them in to check on it.

  I knocked loudly as I entered. I didn’t recognize the three young officers but smiled as if they were friends. “Help you any?”

  “Al Jeery?” one of them asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, sir!” another snapped.

  I sighed inwardly — assholes everywhere. “Yes, sir,” I mumbled.

  “We’d like you to accompany us across town.” It was the one who’d spoken first.

  “What for?”

  “I’d rather not say.”

  “Am I under arrest?”

  “Not yet, punk,” the asshole snarled.

  “What if I don’t want to go?”

  “It would be better if you did.” The first cop again.

  I yawned to show I wasn’t worried. “OK. I’ll come quietly.”

  “Thanks,” the first cop said.

  “Jerk,” the asshole added.

  The third stayed silent.

  I peered in the window of the bagel shop as I was passing. Two more cops were inside, talking with Ali, taking notes. Ali looked numb. He was shaking his head and appeared to be crying. A bad sign.

  They ran me across town, sirens blaring, saying nothing. They avoided the roads to the station. I checked their uniforms in the glow of the streetlights. They looked real but I had a bad feeling. I was between two of them on the backseat but I wasn’t cuffed. I could maybe grab a gun from one of them, force them to let me out.

  I was finalizing the plan when we pulled up at the Skylight. I immediately let it drop. The uniforms were real, and I had a premonition of what lay in store. The dismayed faces of the staff in the lobby confirmed my worst suspicions. By the time I reached room 812 and saw a corpse draped over the bed, it was something of an anticlimax.